


Place Cards

by mistleto3



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Izuseri mention, M/M, Mikototsu side pairing, Wedding, sexuality questioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistleto3/pseuds/mistleto3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misaki is surprised to find Saruhiko has been invited to Mikoto and Tatara’s wedding reception, and has been seated next to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Place Cards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nimtheriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimtheriel/gifts), [xladysaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xladysaya/gifts).



> Follows on from my mikototsu wedding fic [Vows.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6099294) Set post S2 in an alternative universe in which Mikoto and Tatara have both survived. 
> 
> Based on Nimtheriel's request to see Misaki's reaction to his King's marriage (I hope you don't mind me gifting this to you!) and xladysaya‘s idea of Misaki and Saruhiko being the awkward single guys seated by the open bar at a wedding reception mentioned in [this post.](http://its-love-u-asshole.tumblr.com/post/147527535804/hm-a-fic-ask-meme-sounds-fun-n-h-w-please)
> 
> This fic is also available on [Tumblr.](http://mistleto-3.tumblr.com/post/148660250674/follows-on-from-my-mikototsu-wedding-fic-vows)

Despite not being the most romantic of venues, Bar Homra had been converted into the setting for Mikoto and Tatara’s wedding reception. One side of the room was walled with a long buffet table, and smaller tables were dotted about in any available space; luckily the guest list had been rather short, so the bar was just about big enough to accommodate seating for everyone, along with a small dance floor cleared at one end of the room. Music was playing as the guests began to file in, and Tatara flitted between them, towing Mikoto along behind him as he made his rounds thanking people for coming.

Izumo and Misaki, the two best men, had followed them in, though they broke away from the happy couple as soon as they were inside to allow them to chatter with the other guests. At Izumo’s request, they had been seated at the table closest to his precious bar. Misaki kept a low profile as he looked for his seat, hoping nobody had noticed him getting teary eyed during the ceremony, but thankfully the attention of most of the guests was focussed on the happy couple. He located his place card, then circled the table curiously to read the others. Seated beside Izumo was, obviously, Seri- the pair were practically married, with Reisi sat on her other side. Rikio was seated between Izumo and Misaki, which left the final chair for…

 _Fushimi Saruhiko._ The name was scrawled in Tatara’s neat handwriting.

_Ahh, fuck._

Misaki’s heart sank at the sight of the name card placed in front of the seat next to his own. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Saruhiko; since their battle with Sukuna, he’d begun to understand why they’d had the fights that ultimately caused the rift in their friendship. But they were still in the clumsy first steps of their reconciliation, relearning how to communicate, working through five years of sharp words and hard feelings. It was tough, and they were arguing a lot, but Misaki was noticing a distinct improvement in their relationship.

But even though things were getting better, he had no desire for any of that painful awkwardness occur in such a public venue, and embarrassing himself at his King’s wedding was one of the worst things Misaki could imagine. Misaki wasn’t even sure why Saruhiko had been invited; he was never particularly close with Tatara, and he seemed to have a fairly strong aversion to Mikoto. It wasn’t that he actively disliked him, but from what Misaki could understand, Saruhiko was uncomfortable around him, though he wasn’t sure why.

Misaki had a sneaking suspicion that the invitation and the seating arrangement were both Tatara’s doing; he’d been overjoyed to learn that the two were trying to work out their differences, and wanted to encourage it at any opportunity, so Misaki wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he had meddled in the hopes of aiding their reconciliation. It was no secret that he had hoped they’d make amends; even right after Saruhiko had first left Homra, Tatara had told Misaki: “It’d be good if you could talk one day, with Yata in the place he belongs to and Fushimi in the place he belongs to.” And now Misaki finally knew what he meant.

But he still thought a wedding reception wasn’t the best setting for that talk. Tatara was normally uncannily adept at reading people, so Misaki thought he would have known better than sitting them together. Either that, or Tatara thought it would help if the pair were stuck together at a party and had a chance to have a good time and a few drinks together, but Misaki thought he was, at the very least, incredibly misguided in that line of thought.

Either way, Misaki wasn’t eager to make a fool of himself, so he deposited his jacket over the back of his chair and went looking for the newlyweds to give them his well-wishes, hoping to postpone his meeting with Saruhiko for as long as possible. The pair had taken their seats at the top table and were holding a glass of champagne each by the time Misaki approached.

“Mikoto-san, Totsuka-san, congratulations!”

“Thank you, Yata-san!” Tatara replied cheerfully. He set down his drink, then jumped to his feet and hurried around the table to throw his arms around Misaki’s shoulders. “Thank you for being my best man.”

“H-hey, no worries. It was a fun day,” Misaki’s words came out in a mumble, embarrassed by the show of affection. When Tatara released him, he quickly changed the subject. “S-so what’s it like bein’ married?”

“Feels the same,” Mikoto shrugged, and Tatara pouted melodramatically as he batted him lightly around the head, giggling as he did so.

“I love it, it’s great,” Tatara proclaimed with a smile.

“We’ve only been married an hour,” Mikoto pointed out, but he was once again shushed by his new husband, who seemed perfectly content to revel in being a newlywed.

Misaki moved aside after that to allow Rikio and Dewa to step forward and offer their congratulations, and as he drifted back towards his seat, he felt a sort of discomfort beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach that intensified whenever he glanced over at the head table, where the just-married couple sat. Misaki wasn’t completely sure what caused the sensation, but the longer he looked at them, the worse it became. The sight of Tatara leaning his head on Mikoto’s shoulder, of their fingers intertwined, made Misaki’s stomach turn, and sent a cold sensation trickling through his chest.

Almost instantly, he began to berate himself internally for feeling that way. It wasn’t like he’d never seen them together before- they’d been dating for what felt like forever, and even before they were officially a couple, even Misaki could see that their relationship was more than simple friendship. So why did it make him so uncomfortable now?

_It’s not because they’re both dudes…?_

Misaki instantly dismissed the thought. Of course he didn’t have a problem with their orientation- why would he?

_So what the hell is bothering me?_

He had to admit to himself though, if the couple at the top table had been a man and a woman, he didn’t think he’d be feeling like this. The thought filled him with shame.

_But why not? I don’t care that they’re two guys getting married. People don’t suddenly become homophobic because their friends got hitched. I’ve always happy for them; what the fuck is wrong with me all of a sudden?_

Misaki snatched up a glass of champagne from the open bar and took his seat. He couldn’t put his finger on what the feeling even was; it seemed somewhere between envy and longing, but he wouldn’t really describe it as either.

_I mean, I guess it kinda sucks to be a single guy at a wedding…_

Maybe that was what it was. Tatara wasn’t that much older than Misaki- he only had a few years on him, but here he was, sitting next to his soulmate at their wedding reception, when Misaki had never even had a proper girlfriend.

_I’m just jealous; that must be it._

It didn’t explain why their genders mattered at all to him, though. He sighed, half-draining the flute of champagne in one deep swig as he tried to put his discomfort out of his mind. Whatever it was, it seemed to be stupid, and he was supposed to be enjoying himself at the party.

It was at that moment that the door to the bar swung open and Saruhiko entered, dressed in a smart, slim-fitting black suit, white shirt, and white tie.

_He looks handsome in a suit…_

The intrusive thought flitted through Misaki’s mind before he had the chance to stop it, and he instantly felt his cheeks heating up.

_What the fuck?_

Misaki had always known somewhere in his mind that Saruhiko was an attractive person, but that knowledge had never progressed further than a sort of ambient background awareness that didn’t really colour any of his other thoughts. In that moment though, it hit him like a truck. The close-fitting suit highlighted his slender figure, his long, slim legs, the almost feminine curve of his waist... And when he was dressed all in black and white like this, the only chips of colour about him were the dazzling, cobalt blue of his eyes, making them stand out even more than usual.

Misaki shook his head to clear the embarrassing thoughts, trying to write it all off as him not being used to seeing Saruhiko in a suit, but the dismissal was so disingenuous that he almost made himself cringe.

Saruhiko had made a beeline for Misaki as soon as he’d laid eyes on him, and there was a certain stiffness to the way he walked; Misaki supposed he must be uncomfortable surrounded by all these Red clansmen. After all, it was the first time he’d returned to Homra bar since he’d left the clan, almost five years ago.

“Were you crying at the ceremony?” was the first thing Saruhiko said as he reached Misaki.

“Shut up! I was not!” Misaki grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Saruhiko’s smirk. It was all playful teasing though, which made a nice change from the sharp words they used to fire back and forth.

“Sure,” Saruhiko replied sarcastically, picking up a glass of champagne from the bar as he took his seat.

“I’m surprised you even came. You don’t seem like the type to enjoy weddings,” Misaki grumbled.

“I’m not. Captain,” was all he needed to say to explain the situation. Of course the Blue King wouldn’t allow Saruhiko to skip out on his invitation.

Misaki nodded, and neither of them spoke for a moment. In the lull in conversation, Misaki frantically searched for something to make small talk about; it was too awkward to sit in silence with him.

“S-so how are you doing?” was the best he could come up with.

Saruhiko shrugged. “Fine. Work’s still busy with the Slates being destroyed and stuff.”

“You aren’t overworking yourself are you?” Misaki raised an eyebrow in concern.

“Nah. Got nothing better to do anyway.”

“Right...” Misaki didn’t quite believe Saruhiko’s assurances; he seemed to have a different definition of “overworking oneself” to the rest of the world. As such, he made a mental note to confirm his story with another member of Sceptre 4 when he had a chance to. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of asking Reisi about it; there was something about the Blue King that made Misaki sort of uncomfortable, but ultimately he’d rather ask him than Seri. Talking to girls was already bad enough, but the dress she wore to the wedding was dark scarlet in homage to the grooms, and had a deep, V-shaped neckline that exposed a vast expanse of cleavage, and whenever Misaki caught sight of the amount of bare flesh she had on display, he was hit by a fresh wave of mortification, even though she stood at the opposite end of the room. The rest of the Red clan didn’t seem to mind though, indeed, Misaki had given Yō a swift thump on the arm earlier on for making inappropriate comments when he caught sight of her outside the church.

“What about you, how are you doing?” There was a vaguely bored tone to Saruhiko’s voice, but he seemed to share Misaki’s desire not to allow an awkward silence to fall, so he continued the conversation.

“Ah, I’m fine. The last week or so has been kinda hectic, what with wedding preparations and stuff. It’s been a full-time job trying to keep Totsuka-san occupied so he didn’t turn into bridezilla or something; he was stressing so much about it.”

Saruhiko nodded. “I’m surprised Mikoto-san wasn’t the one to look after him,” he said nonchalantly.

“Mikoto-san had enough on his plate I guess. You know what he’s like, man of few words and all. I heard he had a tough time writing his vows,” he said, watching the newlyweds at the top table with a look in his eyes that Saruhiko couldn’t quite place.

Saruhiko nodded once more, glancing between Misaki and his old King, and a certain cloudiness returned to his expression and his brow furrowed as he watched them.

When Misaki finally looked back towards him, he raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Huh? What’s up?”

“Nothing, you just seem kinda forlorn. Almost like you’re upset Mikoto-san is off the market or something,” Saruhiko observed.

“Oi, what the hell?” Misaki hissed, keeping his voice to a stage-whisper to avoid any of the other guests hearing their exchange. “A-are you suggesting I have a crush on Mikoto-san or something?”

Saruhiko shrugged, non-committal.

“Well I don’t, never have! I’m not gay! Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I’m just not into dudes.”

“Could have fooled me.” The playful teasing tone returned to Saruhiko’s voice once more, diffusing some of the tension that had built up between them.

Misaki clicked his tongue. “What do you mean?”

“Every time Awashima-san gets within 20 feet of you, you turn bright red. You’re still a virgin-”

“Oi, you don’t know shit about my sex life,” Misaki interrupted.

“Well, have you had sex with a woman?”

Misaki narrowed his eyes at Saruhiko, but he was well aware that no lie would get past him. “…No.”

“Exactly.”

“Just because I’m nervous around a woman walking around with her massive knockers practically bursting out of her dress and haven’t got laid yet doesn’t mean I’m gay. I’m waiting for the right girl,” he said with a huff, his cheeks beginning to redden. He downed the rest of his glass of champagne and snatched up another from the bar behind him.  

Saruhiko rolled his eyes at the ‘right girl’ comment, then pointed out: “And you seem obsessed with Mikoto-san.”

“I _admire_ Mikoto-san because he’s brave and strong and he’s my King. I don’t fancy him or anything weird like that. I mean, you admire Munakata right? But that doesn’t mean you want in his pants or whatever. If I seem sad it’s just because it sucks to be a single guy at a wedding.” Misaki folded his arms. “Mikoto-san’s got Totsuka-san and I’m happy for them; they’ve been in love since like forever.”

Saruhiko huffed quietly; he knew Misaki’s tells, and while he seemed a little bit off, there was no sign he was lying.

“Why do you care so much anyway?”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, and Misaki shot him a pointed look, as though to remind him of the promise they made to be more open with one another.

“The situation before I left Homra wasn’t exactly helped by the fact I thought you had a crush on Mikoto. Already felt left far enough behind without thinking you were in love with the guy.”

Misaki frowned, his voice softening. “I wasn’t… never have been. Promise.”

Saruhiko nodded, but didn’t say anything, though the frown lines on his forehead seemed to have smoothed out somewhat. They were interrupted at that point by the arrival of Izumo and Seri at their table, holding a plate of food each. Misaki deliberately averted his gaze from Seri’s rather prominent cleavage, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Saruhiko smirking faintly at him. He kicked his shin under the table.

“You two should grab something from the buffet before Kamamoto gets there and starts fillin’ his boots; ya don’t wanna be drinkin’ on an empty stomach,” Izumo suggested, and Saruhiko and Misaki sagely took his advice, though in reality, Misaki just wanted to put as much distance between himself and Seri as possible. There was only so long they could stay at the buffet however, and Misaki grimaced in displeasure as they turned to walk back to their table, giving Saruhiko a punch on the arm when he noticed him smirking once more.

Ultimately, it turned out not to matter whether Saruhiko drank on an empty stomach after all; he drained his glasses at half the speed of Misaki, and was still almost sober by the time Misaki had gotten himself quite tipsy. As such, after a few hours he still had enough of his wits about him to notice that there was something off about Misaki, as there had been all evening. He wasn’t sure whether it was having Reisi and Seri in such close proximity, or the alcohol itself, or the issue he’d mentioned before about being a single guy at a wedding, but either way, as much as Misaki tried to throw himself into the celebrations, it seemed as though his heart wasn’t in it. He was quieter than usual, and he was drinking a little too quickly, as though he was hoping the alcohol would drown whatever it was that was troubling him. Saruhiko wanted to ask what was up with him, but there were too many other people at the table.

Misaki did perk up however when a particular song came on- Saruhiko didn’t recognise it, but it seemed to be one of Misaki’s favourites by the way he seemed suddenly imbued with enthusiasm. He leapt to his feet, grabbing Saruhiko’s wrist as he did so.

“I love this song!”

“Misaki…” Saruhiko protested, however when he saw Misaki stumble slightly, dizzy with the alcohol clouding his head, he reluctantly got to his feet. If nothing else, he’d rather Misaki not fall on his face and injure himself, so Saruhiko allowed him to tow him over to the dance floor, if only to be there to catch Misaki if he tripped over his own feet. However, he stopped when Misaki tried to pull him _onto_ it.

“I’m not dancing.” The tone of his voice left no space for argument.

Misaki pouted, but ultimately released his arm and dove onto the floor alone, evidently having decided he didn’t want to waste the song arguing. Meanwhile, Saruhiko found an empty spot of wall to lean against as he waited for him. Despite the slight clumsiness that came with his drunkenness, Misaki was actually a reasonably good dancer; he seemed to be improvising something that looked like break dancing to Saruhiko (who admittedly knew almost nothing about it), and his movements were quick and agile, almost graceful in an odd sort of way. There was a kind of brightness in his eyes that Saruhiko had rarely seen since he’d left Homra, but that brightness was beginning to return more and more often nowadays, and while Saruhiko wouldn’t have said it out loud, he was glad to see it.

After a few songs, Misaki seemed to decide he’d had enough, and he jogged over to where Saruhiko stood. His chest heaved, and his hair was damp with sweat.

“Come on, sit outside for a minute to cool down,” Saruhiko suggested, and Misaki nodded, following his friend to the door and gratefully accepting the soft drink that Saruhiko pressed into his hand on the way out. The evening air was refreshingly cool, and once the door had swung closed, the music from inside became muffled; the relative peace made a nice change of pace from the busy, vibrant atmosphere of the party. They took a seat on the bar’s front steps, and Misaki downed half of the glass of cola in a few deep swigs. The dancing seemed to have sobered him up a little.

“You alright?” Saruhiko asked.

“Hmm? Yeah, fine, just a bit warm.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Misaki tilted his head. “Then what do you mean?”

“You’ve seemed off all night.”

Misaki sighed. “Yeah, I guess…”

“If you want to talk about it... No pressure, though,” Saruhiko said quietly.

Misaki ran a hand through his hair, hesitating for a few seconds. Saruhiko could practically see him staging a fierce internal debate with himself, until he finally said: “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Of course.” Saruhiko felt something in his chest swell; he hadn’t expected Misaki to trust him again so soon.

“I guess I was just… thinking about what you said earlier…” It seemed to take tremendous effort to force the words out.

“Which thing I said earlier?”

“About…” The next word he wanted to say seemed to snag in his throat for a moment, until he finally managed to spit it out: “…s-sexuality and stuff. I uh… think you might have been kind of right...”

Saruhiko blinked in surprise, but didn’t say anything, deciding to just let Misaki talk. The alcohol in his friend’s system seemed to be loosening his tongue somewhat; Saruhiko had a feeling that if Misaki’d had these thoughts at any other time, he would have squashed them down as deeply as he could.

“I never really thought about it before; I always just assumed the reason no girl ever really appealed to me was because I never met the right one, and it’s not like I even _know_ a lot of girls, you know? Aya was like the only one who ever talked to me in school, and you remember how annoying she was. And there are no girls my age in Homra… I never thought the reason I hadn’t met the right girl was because I’m not _into_ girls, but the more I think about it the more it just kinda makes sense.” He spoke slowly and softly, as though if his words were quiet enough, they wouldn’t make all these frightening thoughts real.

“It doesn’t even make me like… _excited,”_ his cheeks darkened as he grumbled the word, “when there are half-naked girls on TV or in magazines or anything; it’s just embarrassing, or uncomfortable. But today I was like… I don’t know… noticing how attractive people at the wedding are now they’re kinda dressed up nice. Like… the guys at Homra don’t ever dress presentable, and I’ve never seen you in a suit before…” If it was possible, his face grew even redder, and he quickly changed the subject away from his friend.

“Looking back I think I’ve had crushes on guys before, I just didn’t realise they were crushes, I guess. I just thought it was like… strong friendship, ya know? I think I might’a had one on Totsuka-san at some point. I don’t anymore but… after you left, he was there for me a lot and we spent loadsa time together and he made sure I was okay and that I felt cared about… But I didn’t even think about it in _that_ way at the time. And obviously he had a boyfriend, so it’s not like it would have made a difference.”

If Saruhiko was bothered by the mention of his exit from Homra, he didn’t show it, but he felt a twinge of something unpleasant in the pit of his stomach at the mention of Misaki having a crush on his friend.

“And I had this weird feeling earlier, seeing Mikoto-san and Totsuka-san so happy together…” He gave an awkward, bashful chuckle. “At first I thought I was being homophobic cause I felt kinda uncomfortable looking at them, but I think it’s because that’s what _I_ want. Not like, Mikoto-san or Totsuka-san specifically, just… I want what they have, and I think I want it with another guy.” His gaze dropped to fix on the concrete beneath his shoes, as though he was ashamed. “Sorry, I should probably be talking to Totsuka-san about this, but he’s kinda busy right now…”

Saruhiko lay a hand on Misaki’s shoulder with a sigh. “Misaki, you can talk to me.”

“I don’t wanna burden you or anything…”

“It’s not a burden. We’re friends, remember?” It seemed to Saruhiko that Misaki was a bit of an emotional drunk. He paused, taking a deep breath as he tried to think of the best way to console him. The only thing he could think of was to tell Misaki he understood, that he was there for him, that Misaki wasn’t going through this alone. After a moment, he admitted quietly: “I’m bisexual, so I get it.”

Misaki blinked in surprise and looked up at him. “Really?” He seemed to brighten at the confession, much to Saruhiko’s relief.

He nodded. “Don’t stress too much over it; it’s not a big deal.”

Misaki sighed. “It’s just weird, having thought one thing all my life, then figuring out in the space of a couple of hours that I actually had the wrong idea the whole time… don’t most people realise this stuff over the space of a couple months or years something?”

“Yeah, but you’re dense,” Saruhiko replied bluntly, and Misaki responded with a gentle punch on the arm.

“I dunno what to do about it now though.”

“You don’t have to do anything. If you wanna look for a boyfriend, look for one; if you don’t, don’t. If you wanna tell people, tell people; if you don’t, don’t.” Saruhiko shrugged. “’S not much more complicated than that. It’s not a huge deal anyway. Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you aren’t still the same person,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I guess…”  He seemed to be rolling the word ‘gay’ around in his head, digesting it. It was the first time the label had been applied to him, and evidently it felt foreign. “Thanks,” he added quietly.

“’S what friends are for.” Saruhiko dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

“I think I need another drink,” Misaki decided, then rose slowly to his feet. “It’s a wedding, we should be getting wasted, not talking about deep shit like this.”

Saruhiko chuckled and allowed him to lead the way back into the bar.

After their talk, Misaki appeared to have brightened noticeably, his confidence returning almost instantly. It seemed their talk had lifted a weight off of him, and he threw himself into the festivities with gusto (with the exception of the cheering that erupted from the rest of Homra when Mikoto decided he’d had enough of the party, scooped Tatara up into his arms, slung him over his shoulder, and carried him upstairs to the apartment above the bar; instead of joining in the cheering, Misaki turned beetroot red and averted his eyes). After that, the party began to disperse somewhat, and Saruhiko reached for his jacket, evidently wanting to take his leave at some point soon.

“O-oi, Saruhiko…”

“Hm?”

“My apartment’s closer than your dorms… do you wanna stay over? Saves you travelling all that way late at night…” Misaki’s voice was thick with awkwardness.

“That’d be good.” Saruhiko replied simply.

The pair set about saying their goodbyes to the other guests, then left the bar together, stepping out into the cool night air side by side. They walked quietly for a moment, until Misaki tentatively asked:

“Are ya alright?”

Saruhiko nodded. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s the first time you’ve been to Homra in a long while so…”

“It wasn’t so bad.”

“Good.”

There was a short pause.

“What about you?”

“Yeah, better now. Thanks,” Misaki said. There was still a slight slur to his voice.

“Good.” It was an odd feeling to Saruhiko, being able to talk to Misaki like this, to share personal conversations, to be able to show concern for him. It was still difficult, in all honesty; the habit of pretending he didn’t care was deeply ingrained in his psyche by now and breaking that reflex was a struggle, but he was getting better at it. Even after a few weeks of them reopening the channels of communication, it was a novel concept, talking to each other without malice. But God, had Saruhiko missed it. As much as he’d pretended he didn’t, he’d always cared deeply about Misaki’s wellbeing, and being there for him as a friend should was almost cathartic. Removing the mask of indifference he’d worn over the past few years was like coming up for air, and every kind word exchanged between them felt like throwing a stitch, repairing the rifts that had opened between them.

Misaki’s confession that evening was the first tangible sign that those stitches were doing their job, the wounds were closing, their edges were healing. His offer to allow Saruhiko to stay over only cemented that conclusion in Saruhiko’s mind. He was only now realising that, over the years, he’d gotten acclimatised to the pain of having the only person who’d ever cared about him despise him him, and it wasn’t until now that that pain was finally beginning to ebb that Saruhiko realised just how much he’d been aching.

However, that wasn’t the only effect Misaki’s that coming out had had on Saruhiko; it had left a sort of odd apprehension bubbling in the pit of his stomach. During all those years when Misaki had been the only person he had, there had been nothing Saruhiko could do but fall in love with him. Of course, he’d buried those feelings as deeply as he could when their friendship had fallen apart; he’d forbidden himself from even thinking about them. It hurt too much.

But since they’d started speaking again, it had gotten harder to keep quashing those feelings. And now Misaki had confirmed that it was at least theoretically possible that those feelings could be requited, and the cage Saruhiko had stuffed those thoughts into had simply crumbled like sand through an hourglass and blown away in the cool evening breeze. Saruhiko’s heart had actually fluttered, _fluttered,_ like a schoolgirl’s, when Misaki had said he looked good in a suit. He thought that cliché had been nothing more than a cheesy metaphor, until he felt it himself, and decided no other word encapsulated it so neatly. _Fluttered. How lame._  

It wasn’t his heart that had been stirring when he’d watched Misaki on the dance floor though, with the dim light glistening off the sweat on his tan arms… Saruhiko promptly shut down that train of thought as one not worth pursuing.

The point was, now he had his hopes up. He could no longer dismiss his feelings as fruitless fantasy that would never be realised, even though he was utterly confident that was the case. Swallowing those thoughts back had suddenly become crushingly difficult, and he knew that all he was doing was making it worse for himself when it would inevitably come to light that it was all just wishful thinking after all. There was no way Misaki would love him back; he was sure of that. By letting himself hope, he was just setting himself up for a brutal descent back into reality.

Despite the downward spiral of Saruhiko’s train of thought, he was careful to ensure his face betrayed no hint of the crushing disappointment he felt, and the pair walked side by side in what Misaki thought was comfortable silence back to his apartment. Saruhiko kept a careful eye on him the whole way home in case his drunkenness caught up to him (Misaki wasn’t quite walking in a straight line, and it seemed reasonably likely that he’d fall over), but they made it back in one piece. It took Misaki a few uncoordinated attempts to get the key in the lock before he finally got the door open.

“I’ll get the spare futon…” he offered.

“Tell me where it is and I’ll get it. You go drink some water so you don’t get a hangover.”

Misaki didn’t seem to be in much of a state to protest. Obediently, he shuffled over to the kitchenette and filled a glass with water, calling over his shoulder as he did so: “It’s on the top shelf in the wardrobe, and if you wanna borrow some pajamas, take whatever you need.”

Saruhiko made his way into Misaki’s bedroom, his eyes darting around curiously as he did so. He’d never been in Misaki’s apartment before, and he was surprised at how almost minimalist it was. There were very few personal items, no knick-knacks, no clutter, no photographs or art or any other decoration. It was tidy, too. Of course, there were a few items of Misaki’s that betrayed the apartment as his home; his skateboard by the door, and a small assortment of hats hanging from the coat pegs. The empty beer cans in the recycling bin were Misaki’s favourite brand, as were the deodorant and cologne on the bedside table. But aside from that, the apartment was very impersonal. It struck Saruhiko as odd.

He quickly located the futon and laid it out on the floor beside Misaki’s bed, then fished out and donned a set of jogging trousers that were a little loose on his hips, and a baggy t-shirt, and climbed under the covers. Misaki entered the room a few minutes later, having changed into his pajamas in the bathroom.

“This place is kind of bare, don’t you think?” Saruhiko observed as his friend closed the door and shut off the light, then made his way carefully over to his bed.

“Yeah… never really felt like home I guess, not like our old place used to, so I never bothered to make it my own.” Misaki practically collapsed onto his bed, letting out a satisfied sigh as he did so. “Hey, we ought to move back in there.”

“That was sudden.”

“Well, it’d be cheaper, and it means you don’t have to live in a dorm anymore, and it’s closer to Homra than this place…”

“You’re allowed to admit you want to spend time with me,” Saruhiko teased.

“W-well yeah, there’s the added bonus of living with my best friend again.” Despite the darkness, Saruhiko could almost hear Misaki’s pout in his voice. He smiled despite himself at hearing Misaki refer to him as his best friend; it was all Saruhiko had ever wanted: to be Misaki’s most important person, the way Misaki was his. The distress he’d felt on the way back from the bar slowly began to ease.

“Sounds good to me,” Saruhiko said casually, letting no hint of the way his heartbeat had just accelerated show in his voice.

“G-good,” Misaki said as he tugged his covers up around his shoulders, then let out another sigh.

“You okay?” Saruhiko asked.

“Yeah, fine. Too much booze, need’a sleep it off,” he slurred.

Saruhiko chuckled softly

“You need anythin’ else?” Misaki offered.

“Nah, you can go to sleep.”

“Mmkay. G’night Saruhiko.”

“Night, Misaki.”

It only took a few seconds before Misaki’s breathing began to slow, and in less than a minute, he was out like a light. Saruhiko couldn’t sleep though; it had been years since he’d been excited about anything, but the prospect of moving back in with his friend, of being the person Misaki would talk about his day to, of eating across the table from him, of spending their lazy weekends on the couch together playing video games… as the possibilities of that future flitted through his mind, it took him a moment to realise that the light feeling in his chest really was excitement; it had been so long since he experienced it that he almost didn’t recognise the sensation any more.

And of course, there was a small, guilty part of himself, that Saruhiko ignored but didn’t shut down, that acknowledged that if they lived together, it would make it easier for certain fantasies of Saruhiko’s to become reality. Innocent fantasies, about their fingers twining together, about lounging on the sofa with Misaki’s head leaning on his shoulder, about their lips meeting on a dark evening when they’d both had a little too much to drink…

Saruhiko didn’t stop the mental images from playing out, but at the same time, he held them at arm’s length, trying to reassert that they were just fantasies, and not his future. He told himself he could be happy as Misaki’s best friend, that as long as he was Misaki’s most important person, it didn’t matter if they weren’t dating. And when the worries bubbled up about what he would do if Misaki fell in love with someone else, he banished them from his mind. That was a bridge he would cross when he came to it. There was no point in ruining the present, the perfect present, where Misaki slumbered barely a few feet away, at peace in Saruhiko’s presence, by thinking about the future. He forced himself to focus on the sound of his friend’s breathing, playing over and over in his mind the little moments that day when Misaki had proven that Saruhiko still mattered to him. When he mentioned noticing how good Saruhiko looked in his suit, when he trusted him with his secret, when he suggested they move back in together, when he called him his best friend… Those memories, repeated until the words lost all meaning, were the lullaby that Saruhiko fell asleep to.


End file.
